I shrug and laugh. ‘I haven’t written in weeks,’ I say. But then I notice where the silk ribbon marking my spot lies sandwiched between the pages. Half full. ‘That can’t be right,’ I whisper.
Rob’s eyes glitter with fascination. ‘That must be some read,’ he says. He takes me by the elbow and starts shouting his goodbyes to the gang before I can respond.
He takes me home and doesn’t mention it again, but I know he’s curious. I hide my journal in my closet. It’s not for Rob, really. It’s not like he has ever been, or will ever be, in my bedroom. I hide it in a difficult spot so I don’t accidentally scoop it up again and put it in my purse when I don’t mean to. It’s just such a habit, I guess. It’s a habit I need to break.
I don’t see Bo anywhere when I arrive at our spot.
I put my stuff down. I spread out my blanket. I wait. Finally, I start to pull out my journal. Wait – didn’t I just hide this?
‘You’re early,’ Bo says. I look up and see him slipping his way towards me through the ferns.
‘You sure you’re not late?’ I ask, smiling. He stops on the edge of my blanket and shifts from foot to foot. ‘Sit,’ I say, offering the place opposite me. He doesn’t.
‘So . . . what did you do today?’ he asks stiffly, like he’s trying to follow a script.
‘I learned how to shoot a rifle,’ I reply. ‘You?’
‘You’ve never shot a rifle before?’ he asks, his surprise loosening him up.
‘No.’ I laugh. ‘Not a lot of reason to shoot rifles in New York City.’
Bo’s eyes widen. ‘That’s where you’re from?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I reply. ‘Please sit down, Bo. You’re making me jumpy.’ He sits, but looks even more uncomfortable. ‘Have you ever been to New York?’ I ask.
He laughs nervously. ‘No.’
‘Do you really live out here?’ I gesture to the woods. ‘Or do you live in town?’
‘We live here in the woods – my family and I,’ he replies. ‘We go into town maybe once or twice a month to pick up mail and supplies and drop off the herbal medicines my dad makes.’
I don’t know how to ask this, so I just do it. ‘Do you live in a house?’
‘Not exactly,’ he says. His face is turning red.
‘So, like, tents?’ I press. He shrugs, unwilling to talk about it further.
I know my mouth is hanging open rudely, but I can’t help it. ‘How many people are there in your family?’
‘My mom, dad, me, two brothers and three sisters.’
I do some quick maths. ‘You have five siblings?’ I nearly shout. He smiles uncomfortably and looks away. ‘Where are you? I mean, what order . . .’
‘I’m the eldest,’ he says. ‘My youngest sister is only four.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘Me too.’
Silence again. Bo looks like he’s being tortured. He stands up.
‘Where are you going?’
He wanders away and then comes back. ‘I don’t know.’ He sighs with frustration. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Well, neither do I.’ I rub my sore shoulder absently, and he peers at me knowingly.